The Perfect Patsies
by Deana
Summary: After losing all of their money playing poker, Bart and Doc get into a situation that's not easy to get out of...especially from a jail cell. Sequel to 'A Shot in the Dark'.
1. Chapter 1

.

 **The Perfect Patsies  
** A Maverick story by Deana  
Sequel to 'A Shot in the Dark'.

Disclaimer: I don't own Bart or Doc Holliday. Phooey.

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Bart stared in shock as his poker opponent raked in the pile—the _huge_ pile—of money. He'd lost; he'd actually _lost_!

The man laughed and started counting it. "Looks like your luck has run out, Maverick."

Bart's first instinct was to accuse the man of cheating, but he knew how _that_ would turn out: in a shootout, most likely. Bart looked at his beautiful four-of-a-kind, the row of Queens staring up at him as if in shock themselves.

"What, you lose your voice too, not just your money?" laughed the man. His name was Matt Walters, and he'd had a four-of-a-kind of his own: but his were Kings.

"No," Bart automatically answered. He sounded as sick as he felt. Not only had Walters won the four thousand dollars that he'd entered the game with, but he'd even won the thousand dollar bill that Bart kept pinned inside his jacket pocket.

Bart Maverick was completely broke.

"Come on, Maverick," said Walters. "You're acting like you never lose."

Bart gave him no answer; he simply stood from his chair and headed towards the doors. Once outside, he leaned against a post, still in shock.

"What's the matter?" he suddenly heard. "Still tired?"

Bart turned slightly to see that Doc Holliday had joined him. The answer to Doc's question was definitely 'yes', even if he wasn't still recovering from their last escapade, in which Bart had received three bullet wounds from one bullet; Doc's bullet. "I lost," he said.

Doc dropped his cigar. "You _what_?! I was counting on you to finance us both!"

Bart looked at him. "Huh?"

Doc gave him a sheepish look. "I lost too."

Bart covered his eyes with his right hand.

"Do you need to sit down?" Doc asked.

Bart wasn't sure if he was being serious or funny...probably both. "We're in trouble, Doc."

Doc sighed. "I guess we're sleeping tonight in the wondrous outdoors, under the starry sky."

Bart lowered his hand and sighed. That's just what his still sore body needed; sleep on the hard ground. "Looks that way," he said.

They headed to the hotel and checked out before retrieving their horses from the livery stable and heading out of town. They didn't go far, as they planned to return the next day to try— _somehow_ —to make some money.

Doc could see that Bart was taking their lack of funds harder than he was, so he quickly made coffee over their fire and shoved a cup into Bart's hand. If there was one thing that Doc knew about Bart, it was that coffee always made him feel better.

"Thanks," Bart said, taking a sip.

Doc sat beside him and poured some whiskey into his own coffee as they quietly stared into the fire.

"So," said Doc.

"So what?" asked Bart.

"So what's your plan?"

Bart looked at him. "Plan? What plan? I don't have a plan." He paused. "Do you?"

"Course I do," Doc answered. "We rob a bank, what else?" He poured more whiskey into his coffee.

Bart rolled his eyes. "I'm going to sleep."

Doc nodded. "You enjoy _that_ and I'll enjoy _this,_ " Doc said, patting his whiskey bottle. "G'night."

Bart stood. "G'night." He went over to his bedroll and laid down, wincing as he tried to get into a position that would cause the least amount of pain to his still healing left arm and side. Once that was accomplished, he heaved a sigh and looked up at the millions of bright stars, and it thankfully wasn't long before he fell asleep.

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In the middle of the night, Bart woke up hearing noises. He lay there half awake, not realizing that he was hearing whispered voices, too. Suddenly, the noises abruptly stopped, before continuing again more quietly. He fell back to sleep before he could even understand what he was hearing.

Long after dawn had risen, Bart woke with a jolt, as if only now realizing that something strange had happened. He looked across the fire, to see Doc asleep hugging his empty whiskey bottle. He was snoring loud enough to disturb the horses, who seemed to both be looking right at him.

With a wince, Bart gingerly sat up, trying to ignore the various aches throughout his body from sleeping on the hard ground. He rubbed his left arm, before carefully bracing his recently cracked rib and slowly getting to his feet. He took a deep breath and stiffly made his way over to the fire, desperately needing coffee.

Doc continued to snore, not waking even when Bart accidentally dropped a pan.

Bart drank half the pot before Doc suddenly coughed himself awake. The whiskey bottle fell off him and started to roll away, and Doc grabbed it without even looking.

"You made a big mistake, Doc," Bart said, watching him.

"I did? And what is that?" Doc asked, not moving.

"You drank all your whiskey," said Bart. "Even though you have no money to buy anymore."

Doc's eyes popped open and he sat up. He looked at the bottle as if it had slapped him. "Traitor! How could you?" he said to it, as if it was the bottle's fault.

Bart smiled as he continued to drink his coffee. "You can have some of _my_ drink," he said.

"What's the point?" Doc asked. "There's no alcohol in it." But he reached over and poured himself a cup anyway.

After eating some awful beef jerky—since that's all they had—and downing more coffee, they eventually decided to go back into town to see if there was some way they could make some money. Nothing presented itself, and they simply walked around until a man walked out of the sheriff's office up ahead and stared. "It's them, sheriff! They're the ones I saw!"

Doc and Bart stopped walking, and they both looked behind themselves to see who the man was pointing at. Before they could say anything, the sheriff headed over to them with his gun out. "All right, you two, drop the guns!"

Bart and Doc both blinked. "Us?" Bart said.

The sheriff pulled back the hammer on his gun. "Yes, you; don't try to pretend that you don't know what I'm talking about!"

"But we _don't_ know!" Bart exclaimed.

"Hand over the guns!" the sheriff said again.

Bart and Doc looked at each other before obeying. What else could they do?

The sheriff put both guns into his waistband of his pants before gesturing to them towards the jail. "Get moving."

"What are we under arrest for?" Bart demanded.

"As if you don't know," said the other man. "You robbed my bank!"

Bart was shocked. "We absolutely did _not_!" he exclaimed.

"Get going," said the sheriff.

Bart and Doc had no choice but to start walking.

"What have we done?" Doc said to Bart, quietly. "I was joking when I said that we needed to rob a bank, Bart! Was I so drunk that I don't remember doing it?"

Bart shook his head. "No, Doc, we didn't rob any banks."

Doc sighed with relief. "And we're still going to jail anyway." His face suddenly brightened. "At lease we'll get fed free!"

"But that won't get you any whiskey," Bart answered.

Doc's smile vanished.

Once inside, the sheriff led them to the cells and shut them both inside one together.

"We didn't rob any bank, sheriff," Bart said, gripping the bars. "We left town last night after playing poker, and returned when you saw us just now."

"Poker, eh?" said the sheriff. "Win big?"

"Lose big," said Doc; miserably sitting on one of the cots while he wondered how long he'd have to go without his whiskey.

"Aha, _lose_ big," said the sheriff. "Have any money left?"

"Not a penny," said Doc, his chin in one hand.

Bart looked at him as if telling him to shut up.

"So, no money then, for either of you," the sheriff said. "Sounds like a motive to rob a bank."

"Whether it is or not, we didn't," Bart told him.

The sheriff nodded. "Umm hmm." With that, he walked out the door.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Bart and Doc were left to themselves for a while, each of them trying to figure out what on earth had just happened.

"Are you _sure_ we didn't rob the bank?" Doc asked.

Bart sighed from where he sat on the opposite bunk. "We didn't rob the bank."

"Because, like I said, I was drunk and might have forgotten," said Doc. "Of course we need to deny all to the sheriff, but if we _did_ rob the bank, you can tell me, Bart."

Bart sat up straighter. "We didn't rob the bank!"

"Fine," said Doc.

They were silent for a minute before Doc spoke again. "You wouldn't be taking advantage of my often-drunken state to keep my share of the money, would you?"

"Doc!"

"Sorry."

They were quiet again after that, before Doc spoke yet again. "So why would that man accuse us, then?"

"Simple," said Bart. "Since we did _not_ rob the bank, and the bank owner is saying that he _saw_ us do it, then he is lying."

Doc blinked. "Aaaaand?"

"No," said Bart. "I mean that he's _really_ lying; he had the bank robbed himself, and we're the perfect patsies."

Doc's eyes opened wider with shock and he put a hand to his chest as if scandalized. "No!"

"Yes," said Bart. He gave a humorless chuckle. "And I bet my poker partner from last night is involved." Even as he said it, he suddenly remembered what had woken him up overnight, and this time, _his_ eyes grew huge.

"What?" Doc asked. "You just thought up a brilliant plan?"

Bart shook his head. "Did you hear noises last night?"

"Only your snoring."

Bart blinked. "My sn— _you're_ the one who snores!"

Doc shook his head. "No sir, not me."

Bart sighed and decided to ignore him. "In the middle of the night, I think I heard someone digging. I heard voices, and someone laughed. It was that cheat from last night who took my money. He must've been paid to rob the bank, and hid the money near our campsite!"

Doc rubbed his chin. "Diabolical," he remarked.

Bart nodded. "We have to get out of here and get that money. If we bring it back here and give it to the sheriff, he can stake-out the site to see who comes looking for it!"

Doc blinked. "That's brilliant."

Bart smiled at the compliment. "Thanks, Doc."

" _If_ he believes us," Doc said. "And there's one problem."

"Problem?" said Bart.

Doc nodded. "A _serious_ problem."

"What's that?" Bart asked.

Doc stood from his cot, crossed over to Bart's, and sat down beside him. He turned his head to give his friend a serious look, and said, "They haven't fed us yet."

Bart made an exasperated sound and stood up. "There has to be a reward for the return of the money! Then we can eat whatever we want."

A smile grew on Doc's face. "A reward! I'm sold." He stood up too and grabbed his friend. "Play sick."

Bart blinked. "What? He'll never fall for that!"

"Sure he will!" said Doc. He kicked the back of Bart's knee to make his legs buckle and forced him to kneel on the floor. "Sheriff!" he shouted, trying to hold up his 'sick' friend. "Help!"

Bart winced at his friend's hold on his still-healing arm. "Doc!" he protested. "What are you—"

"Faint," said Doc, adjusting his grip.

"What?" said Bart.

"Faint!" Doc hissed, trying to push him down to the floor.

Rather than get kicked again, Bart obeyed and went limp in Doc's arms.

Doc didn't expect it and accidentally let go. He didn't grab Bart fast enough, and winced when Bart's head went *thud* against the wall. "Sorry!"

"I'm gonna kill you, Doc!" Bart whispered, trying not to wince since he was supposed to be unconscious, after all.

"HELP!" Doc yelled again, right into Bart's ear. "Hmm, maybe the sheriff isn't in."

Bart's eyes popped open and he sat up. "You mean I got kicked and hit my head for noth—"

Just then, the door opened, and without missing a beat, Bart went limp in Doc's arms again.

"What's going on in here?" the sheriff exclaimed.

"My friend has had a fit!" Doc exclaimed.

"A fit?" said the sheriff.

"That's right!" Doc answered. "This happens to him every time he's in a jail cell!"

The sheriff's eyes narrowed. "And how often has he been in jail?"

"Too many times to count!" said Doc. "Uh...but he was innocent every _single_ time."

"Hmm," said the sheriff. He came closer and unlocked the cell. "Let go of him."

"What?"

"Let go of him and step back," the sheriff told him.

"But—"

"DROP HIM!"

Doc did, and Bart landed on the floor with a thump. Doc winced again at the unintentionally rough treatment that his friend was enduring, and stood, backing up.

The sheriff came in and knelt beside Bart, who was pretending to be unconscious as if he was the world's greatest actor... unless he _had_ been knocked out by hitting the floor...

Doc quickly stepped forward and grabbed the sheriff, punching him in the face and grabbing his handcuffs to cuff him to the bars.

Bart came back to life, sitting up and rubbing his head, shooting a dark look at Doc as he stood.

"Hurry up, will you?" said Doc. "The faster you go, the better the chance that no one will come in and find us in here."

Bart blinked. "Us?"

Doc nodded. "I have to stay here to tell him what you're doing so he doesn't go tearing after us thinking that we escaped."

Bart nodded. That made sense. "I'll be back," he said, and ran out.

Doc stood and closed the cell door before heading back over to sit down on his cot. Suddenly he stopped. "He'd better be!" he said to himself.

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Bart quickly snuck out the door and found, to his surprise, that his and Doc's horses were both tethered to the hitching rail. Apparently, the sheriff hadn't brought them to the livery stable yet. He quickly mounted and rode off as fast as his horse could go, ignoring the pain that it caused to his rib. He only hoped that after all this, it wouldn't end up cracked again.

It didn't take long to get to the spot where they'd camped, and Bart dismounted and looked around, inwardly praying that he was right and the money was indeed hidden here. He realized that he should've stolen a shovel, and remembered that he had a pan in his saddlebag. He quickly grabbed it and continued looking.

Suddenly, he spotted it; an area of disturbed dirt only thirty feet from where they'd camped. It was around some boulders and under a tree, where the thieves wouldn't've noticed anyone else in the vicinity. Bart quickly knelt, using the pan handle to dig. It wasn't easy with his aching left arm, but he eventually came across a piece of rope, which he grabbed and yanked on—pulling out a cloth bag full of money. Immensely relieved, he quickly swept all the dirt back so it would look the same as it had before, before mounting and galloping off again—back to the jail. When he arrived, he quickly went inside and found the sheriff awake, glaring at Doc with a handkerchief stuffed into his mouth to keep him quiet.

"See?" Doc said to him. "I told you he'd be back." He reached over and unlocked the handcuffs from the prison bars.

The sheriff yanked the cloth out of his mouth and threw it as he stood. "You two are in _big_ trouble!"

"But sheriff, I have the money," Bart said, walking over and handing the bag to him.

"Of course you do," said the sheriff, grabbing it. "You're turning it in to set yourselves free!" He looked at Doc. "As if I would believe a story like that!"

Neither Bart nor Doc were very surprised. "I thought we were innocent until proven guilty," said Doc.

"You're guilty until proven innocent!" said the sheriff.

"Figures," said Doc, sitting down on one of the cots and plopping his chin into one hand.

"I have a perfect way to prove what we're saying, Doc," said Bart.

"Oh, _do_ you?" the sheriff sarcastically answered, as he pushed Bart back into the cell.

Bart nodded and turned to face him through the bars. "Yes; you simply go to the site and wait for the real thieves to come looking for it."

The sheriff stopped and blinked. That made sense, except for one thing. "Oh sure, and while I'm gone, someone comes to break you out."

Doc barked out a laugh. "As if anyone would want to break out Doc Holliday...except for you, Bart," he said to his friend.

The sheriff stared. "Doc Holliday? You're Doc Holliday?"

Bart and Doc shared looks of surprise.

"Yes," Doc said. "Couldn't you tell?" he added, smoothing his mustache.

"I have Doc Holliday in my jail," the sheriff mumbled, as if in shock.

"I'm not wanted for anything! Well, except for _this_ ," Doc said, gesturing towards the money that the sheriff was still holding. "Which I—or I should say _we_ —did not steal."

"Listen, sheriff," said Bart. "I went and got that money and brought it back to you, when I could easily have taken off with it and never came back."

"Hey!" Doc said.

"But I didn't," said Bart, throwing Doc a look. "You're holding the wrong men, and we need to get back there before the real thieves find the money gone, and disappear!"

"We?" said the sheriff.

Bart nodded. "If you want to catch them, we're coming with you."

"You're staying right here," said the sheriff.

"Then who will show you where the money was hidden?" Bart countered.

The sheriff sighed.

Doc laughed and elbowed his friend. "You got him _there_ , Bart!"

Bart winced at the jab to his recently-wounded arm and flinched away.

Doc winced too. "Sorry."

Bart rolled his eyes as he rubbed his arm. "So what'll it be, sheriff? We might not have much time."

"Looks like I have no choice," the sheriff answered. "I'll tell you two something right now; if you're lying, you'll wish you'd never been born."

"Oh, we wish that all the time, don't we, Bart?" said Doc.

Bart nodded. "Especially after I met _you,_ " he said, with a sarcastic grin.

Doc laughed, but then he seemed to realize what Bart had said and his smile vanished.

The sheriff came over and unlocked the cell, gesturing them out with his gun. "Hands up."

Bart and Doc obeyed and slowly walked out.

"Outside," the sheriff said.

They all walked out the door, and the sheriff motioned for Doc to mount his horse first.

Doc obeyed.

"This is how it's gonna go," the sheriff said, mounting his own and pointing his gun at Doc while he took out his handcuffs. "Give me your wrist."

Doc looked at Bart, who shrugged. Considering the circumstances, neither of them could blame the sheriff...at least the man was going along with this, when he really didn't have to. Doc held out his right arm, and the sheriff clasped the cuff around it, before locking the other end around his own wrist.

Neither Bart nor Doc expected that.

"Now," the sheriff said to Bart. "If you decide to take off, you'll be leaving your friend behind to face the law alone."

Doc shot a pleading look at Bart.

Bart had no intention of leaving without Doc, and wordlessly mounted.

The sheriff gestured with his gun. "Lead the way."

Bart kicked his horse into a walk, and the three of them rode out of town.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

It didn't take long to reach the site where Bart and Doc had camped, and after Doc and the sheriff nearly killed themselves trying to dismount from their horses while handcuffed to each other, all three of them crouched behind some bushes within view of where the money had been hidden.

Everyone stayed quiet, though Bart and Doc both wished that the sheriff had let them have their guns back.

Eventually, they got bored. "Go see if anyone's coming," the sheriff told Bart. "And remember, if you take off, your friend here will take all of the blame for the robbery."

"I know, I know," Bart said. He quietly stood and slowly walked over to the tree that hid them from view, but as soon as he took a step beyond it, something hard smacked him on the head and he fell to the ground, out cold.

Matt Walters, the man who had won all of Bart's money the night before, quickly knelt and grabbed Bart, bodily pulling him upright where he held onto him in one arm while pressing a gun to his head. "Who else is out there?" he called. "Give me back my money or I'll kill him!"

It was exactly the wrong thing to say—or rather, the _right_ thing to say for Bart and Doc's sake—as the sheriff stood, along with Doc Holliday.

Walters' eyes nearly bugged out of his head. Those were definitely the two last people he needed to hear that.

"Drop him, Matt," the sheriff said.

Doc winced at those words, remembering what had already happened inside the jail cell during their ruse.

Matt shook his head. "Give me the money first."

"Neither you nor your father are going to get away with this," the sheriff said. "You might as well just give yourself up."

 _His father?_ Doc thought. _His father is the owner of the bank! Now it makes sense!_ "So, father and son working together for the insurance money, eh?" he said, shaking his head, and it dawned on him a minute later. "You _picked_ Bart to blame," he said. "You cheated to beat him at poker so he would be completely broke, which would be his 'motive' to rob the bank!" He shook his head again. "I wish _I'd_ thought of that," he said, before looking at the sheriff as if it say, _I hope he didn't hear that..._

"Enough talk!" Walters exclaimed. "Give me the money before I count to three, or he dies!" He pulled back the hammer on the gun, which was still pointed at the unconscious Bart's head. "One! Two!"

"Oh, give me that," Doc said, grabbing the gun out of the sheriff's hand and firing it at Walters, who gave a cry of pain and fell to the ground.

Doc lunged forward to catch Bart before he fell too, but he'd forgotten for an instant that he was handcuffed to the sheriff. It only served to jerk him back and pull the sheriff forward, sending the two of them to the ground in a heap.

Doc sighed and raised his wrist, looking at the sheriff. "Do you _mind_?"

The sheriff dug out his key and unlocked it, before taking a deep breath and letting it out, as if relieved to no longer be handcuffed to the notorious Doc Holliday.

Doc crawled over to Bart, who lay flat on his back, still out-cold. "Oh, Barrrrt," he said, tapping his friend's face. "Nap time is over."

Bart made a soft, confused noise.

"That's it," Doc said, grabbing his shoulder and shaking him.

Bart didn't react further.

"Come on, Bart, I'm a dentist, not a doctor!" Doc exclaimed.

Bart gave a little moan and opened his eyes. "Huh?" he said, blinking.

Doc suddenly remembered the incident the previous year where Bart had lot his memory from a crack on the head, and quickly asked, "What's my name?"

Bart frowned. "Doc Holliday."

"And you are...?"

"Bart Maverick."

Doc sighed with relief. "Thank God." He pulled his friend into a sitting position and held onto his arm as Bart sat there wincing and rubbing the back of his head.

"What happened?" Bart asked, a little dazed.

"It's all been taken care of, Bart, we're free men!" Doc told him.

Bart carefully turned his head and saw Walters on the ground wincing as the sheriff put his handcuffs on him. Walters appeared to be bleeding from his right arm. "What'd I miss?"

Doc blinked. "Isn't it obvious?" He stood and pulled Bart up with him. "Do you realize that we still haven't eaten anything today except for beef jerky? Let's go back to town, I'm starving!"

"We still have no money," Bart said, still rubbing what was growing into a painful bump on the back of his head.

Doc deflated. "Oh."

"How much did this thief cheat you out of?" the sheriff suddenly asked.

Bart and Doc both turned to see the sheriff and Walters on their feet, with the sheriff going through Walters' wallet.

"What?" Bart asked, having been unconscious during the whole conversation.

"How much does he have?" Doc asked.

"Almost five thousand dollars," said the sheriff.

"Yep, that sounds about right!" said Doc, snatching the money out of the sheriff's hand. " _Thank_ you!" He shoved the money into his jacket pocket while taking Bart's arm and guiding him over to the horses.

Bart was still understandably-slow on the uptake. "So Walters _was_ involved?"

Doc nodded. "I'll explain it all to you on the way back. Let go of your head and _mount_ , already! I told you I'm thirsty! I mean, starving!" He pushed Bart's hand away from the bump on his head and nudged his shoulder.

Bart sighed and obeyed, knowing that Doc must be going insane without his whiskey. He winced and held in a groan when mounting increased his headache, and he tuned out half of Doc's extremely-embellished tale as they rode back to town.

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Bart and Doc sat in the hotel dining room that evening after having a delicious supper. The bank owner had been arrested, and both he and his son were in jail awaiting trial by the circuit judge who would be in town the following week. Bart and Doc had to stay to testify, which Bart wasn't looking forward to. Doc didn't mind at all, loving attention and eagerly awaiting the chance to tell the court about his heroic act of shooting the thief before he killed his injured best friend. Besides being cleared of the bank robbery charge, Bart and Doc were told that there was a reward for the stolen money, and the next morning they would be gaining ten percent of the amount that was stolen. They'd been stunned to find out that the bank had been 'robbed' right after a Wells Fargo transfer and the deposit of a local miner's payroll, which had the bank containing over forty thousand dollars…giving Bart—who'd been the one to fetch the money and turn it in—a four thousand dollar reward.

Bart had immediately offered the money to Doc. He already had almost five thousand dollars and Doc was completely broke: not only that, but Doc had saved his life…and this wasn't the first time he had, either.

Doc was over the moon. Politeness and shock had him first tell Bart that it wasn't right for him to take it all, but at Bart's insistence, he did.

After supper, Doc was eating a piece of pie for dessert and Bart was back to rubbing the bump on his head. They were both tired and looking forward to sleeping in beds instead of the hard ground that they'd slept on the previous night, but Doc was too happy to go to sleep. "So, Bart," he suddenly said. "What—"

"Don't say it," Bart interrupted.

"Say what?" said Doc.

"At the end of our _last_ 'adventure'," said Bart. "You said, and I quote, 'So Bart, what trouble can we get into next?' Well, _this_ is what happened next," he said, pointing at his aching head. "It's what seems to happen more often than not, and I may not be a superstitious man, but if you say that again, I just might shoot you."

Doc looked hurt. "But that's not what I was gonna say, Bart."

"It wasn't?"

Doc shook his head. "No, on my honor as a gentleman!"

"But you're not a ge—fine, I'm sorry," said Bart. "What were you gonna say?"

Doc smiled. "I was gonna ask where we're _headed_ next, and if we get into trouble again...well..." He shrugged as he lit a cigar.

All Bart could do was look up at the ceiling and say, "Why me?"

The End


End file.
